


colored connections

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU, Drinking, Dysfunctional Relationship, Language, M/M, Supernatural Elements, angry space boyfriends, but still canon compliant, if that makes sense, pre tfa, some sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5631310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hux wasn’t completely human.</p><p>Frankly, he had no idea what he was, because there were no records in any archive for what was happening to him. And he would be lying if he said it wasn’t bothering him - it would be a shame if it turned out he was insane."</p><p>In which Hux can literally see how people connect with one another (and hates it), Kylo Ren is an enigma (like usual), and the two end up in a relationship (somehow).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the introduction

Hux wasn’t completely human.

Frankly, he had no idea what he was, because there were no records in any archive for what was happening to him. And he would be lying if he said it wasn’t bothering him - it would be a shame if it turned out he was insane.

 

* * *

 

Hux could see things. Things that other people couldn’t see or possibly even begin to understand. 

(He had trouble understanding it himself on occasion, which he found left him deeply unsettled. Hux had had an urge to understand everything around him from a ripe young age - he was so used to knowing things that _not_ knowing something gave him a headache.)

When people met, they left a certain trail behind. They appeared as strings to Hux. The colors symbolized the type of relationship while the width of the rope declared how strong the bond was.

When he was young and naïve, Hux’s favorite part was how many colors there were.

A deep, strong orange for respect.

A vivid yellow-green for envy.

A pearly, incandescent blue for kinship.

A _burning_ red for lust.

A purple almost as black as night for hate. 

Some people had multiple threads of varying thicknesses between them as testaments to the ups-and-downs of their relationship. Ocean-blue entwined with rosy-pinks and muddy-greys. Bright-oranges fraying along a braid of gold, midnight-blue, and inky-black. 

He couldn't stand them. (And he was forever grateful that he couldn't see his own.)

Hux had spent years poring over the tomes in the First Order’s library, to no avail. He found neither explanation nor cure for his affliction (whatever it was). It was frustrating, to say the least, and had led to sleepless nights, dizzying days, and a ‘generally waspish attitude’ (if his bunkmates were anything to go by). 

The ‘generally waspish attitude’ wasn’t just from a lack of rest, though. The colored lines were disturbing to him during the first few years. They’d shoot out of nowhere whenever someone entered a room (occasionally _through_ him, which would send an awful chill up his spine) . Hux didn’t really want to see them, anyway. He knew the lines’ advantages, but to be able to see his allies’/coworkers’/underlings’ (?) feelings so easily disgusted him.

(For example:

Polor hated Phasma even though Phasma held respect for the younger woman ( _was it because she dared to hate the captain? no, no, no no no, he didn’t want to know_ );

Daxin was lusting after Thanisson even though Thanisson had barely hair-width connection to him ( _such petty little minds_ );

and the list went on.) 

Sometimes he wanted to gouge out his own eyeballs. He hated his ‘ability’ that much. For once he’d seen their relationships he could no longer remain unattached. He understood them too well. These people were no longer pawns, but beings with lives and futures and emotions.

Hux was like them. They were like him. 

For all his intellect, preparedness, status - he was as vulnerable a man as they.

If he could function with his eyes closed forever, he would.

 

* * *

 

Hux realized that he wasn't entirely human on the morning of his seventh birthday.

He remembered that morning with vivid clarity. He'd awoken early that morning because he’d been too thrilled with nerves to sleep, and was enraptured by the lilac sky that looked cool and peaceful and sweet. Of course, then, his seven-year-old brain had thought merely “ _pretty_ ”. 

Looking back, the colored sky had been something of a cruel joke. 

Hux had crept down the stairs on the tips of his toes and slipped out the door in the most unassuming clothes he'd had (for all his naïvety, he, at least, had a small sense of preservation). He had been especially quiet so that his father would not awaken and demand he return inside.

It was early enough, he’d noted, that the waifs were scavenging the streets but his father was not yet ready to awake. So, being now at the ripe age of seven, Hux decided that it would be a good idea to wander the streets on his own - something Brendol Hux had never permitted.

While he’d found the quiet city and soft purple sky to be fascinating (there were so many sights and smells and sounds), there was something more in how simply _still_ it was. Peace and calm were hard to come by after the collapse of the Empire. 

And then he’d nearly fallen flat on his face at the sound of metal clattering on the cold, stone pavement - followed immediately by the screaming and shrieking of an alarm bell.

Hux’s quick gaze had darted about the streets for the source of the disturbance until it’d settled upon a young boy in a dark alley. The orphan waif had dropped his ancient clock on the ground, wincing and muttering hasty apologies. But it was too late - all the other boys who had taken shelter in the small alley were awakened because of his clumsiness, and they were quite upset about it if their darkening faces and fierce snarls were anything to go by. 

An older boy had grabbed his ear, ignoring the smaller boy’s cries, and shoved him into the dusty white-cement wall before socking him in the stomach. Nearly everyone else had jeered, slapping the dusty ground and cackling threats.

Hux had felt the frenzied atmosphere that was as exciting as it was addictive, had himself locked eyes with the boy, his mouth ready to spread into a smirk, when suddenly -

Time had seemed to slow down.

Hux’d stretched his hand out in panic, his eyes widening ( _in horror? or terror? or curiosity? it was a blur_ ) as his limb passed sluggishly through the air as if it were molasses. Even his blink had been comically slow.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by a single thread of murky grey shooting across the alley, twisting through the air until it latched onto him.

Hux remembered staring down at the thread, mind blank, until time sped up again and the little boy was shoved into a wall and was screaming ‘ _I hate you all - just leave me alone - you creeps_ ’.

He’d looked around in confusion at a cacophony of colors - dirty, unpleasant off-white strings coiling themselves around the older boy and his roaring companions. The strings had been coming from the little boy, who’d received in turn sickly yellows of mutual disgust.

Hux had instantly felt nausea broil in his stomach and creep its way up his throat. Luckily, he’d hurdled himself out of view of the alley before emptying his stomach.

(He couldn’t help but notice that his stomach’s contents were as sickening as the string that’d threatened to consume him.)

 

* * *

 

Even now, Hux didn't understand how he recognized the colors. He could sense the emotions they were displaying, and that was that. No explanation for _what_ was happening and _why_ it was happening to him.

 

* * *

 

Hux was registered at birth as humanoid, but he was pretty sure no one had conducted a thorough test on him. Otherwise, they’d have noticed that there was something wrong with him, because surely there was some tell-tale sign that he wasn’t a normal human.

(He couldn’t find anything about other species with this particular sense; that gave him a headache, too.) 

As a child, he'd been worried. He was unnatural. Different. Defected. Strange.

He had felt so lost, especially on that first morning. If he’d told his his father, he’d be suspected of lying - who would believe such a strange tale? _Colored lines attaching people to one another?_

He wouldn't be just a liar, but a lunatic as well. And Brendol Hux would not tolerate having a lunatic for a son. 

So Hux decided not to tell him. At first, it was like a treasured secret. It was like having a whole world to his own, one filled with more color than he’d seen in his entire life. 

But secrets all too frequently became burdens. It weighed on him for _years_ and _years_. He couldn't talk to anyone about it. He feared for his sanity. He couldn't sleep well anymore ( _is that really what they think of me?_ _is this all a hallucination? how can I wake up from this dream?_ ).

Finally, Hux had reached an old enough age for him to be sent to the Academy. He’d liked it there, as his father had promised. It was his father's pride and joy, after all - something that he had molded and shaped with his own wits into a cause much bigger than himself.  

(Hux still couldn't sleep, but that left more time for studying.)

But Hux didn't enjoy it simply for the education. He no longer had to skirt about his father when he asked why he ‘stared off like that’. (His father could not see the rainbow that held them together in the reflection off his blue eyes, but that was alright. Hux was sure they wouldn't have understood, anyway.) 

He’d been very good at it as well, of course. His teachers would smile coldly and thinly and admit, 

 _Yes, he’s an exceptionally skilled writer and reader._  

_He's much better than the other children._

_He exceeds all expectations._

_You should be proud, Mr. Hux._  

The teachers would reach out to him in maroon-tinged disbelief. The children would lash out at him with ropes of yellow-green envy.

And soon later, as the years passed and the strings ceased to worry him, Hux’d found that he relished his isolation.

 

* * *

 

By the time Hux fell deeply in with the First Order, he had mastered his strange ability. He used it to manipulate his commanding officers, turning their so-proclaimed alliances and rivalries against them until he rose to the top.

  
(Or pretty close to there, anyway.)


	2. enter the serpent

He'd met Kylo Ren before he'd become a general.

And farther before then, he'd heard rumors.

 _He has a sword made entirely of light_ , they whispered in awe.

_He choked a man without even touching him._

_He stopped a blast in midair._

_He's invincible._

_He's like Darth Vader._

_I heard he killed fifty men with the flick of his wrist._

_No, it was one-hundred. And they were all armed!_

Hux had figured they were all just tall tales; hyperboles passed on and further exaggerated with time and influence. It happened all the time with war legends and mystics.

But that wasn’t the case - not totally, anyhow.

Hux didn't know what he was expecting, but the thin man swathed in heavy black cloth and a dented helmet made his skin crawl with anxiety - which was good. It was probably worse for the crew, and if fear couldn’t be avoided (this was the First Order, molded after the damn Empire, so of course it couldn’t be) then he’d sure as hell twist it to his advantage.

(He tended to swear more when faced with anxiety.)

 

* * *

 

The first day he’d seen Kylo Ren, he’d burst into the room with so much flair and drama that Hux was sure someone important had died.

He had three singular thoughts during that first meeting (though he hadn't actually made real contact with Ren until much later):

His first thought was something along the lines of, _What is under the helmet?_

His second thought was about as dangerous, _Why does he have no connections?_

(For there were no strings extending from or grasping at Ren. There were not even threads. And no one was reaching out to him in the pale, quivering green that spelled _fear,_  even though he could practically smell its stench in the atmosphere.

Hux took a quick glance about the room, and he watched appraisingly as the threads moved closer together. The crew members were reaching out to each other as if in community; their threads were rambling and bumbling in an erratic attempt at closeness.

And he looked at Kylo Ren, standing proudly alone at the center - a clear, clean-cut island in a sea of knotted, winding thread.)

His third thought was merely: _This man is strong_.

 

* * *

 

He met Captain Phasma that day as well. She was training for her position as leader of a stormtrooper team, but she’d taken off her helmet to shake his hand and introduce herself. That was strange in itself, considering that stormtroopers relied on their helmets to mask the individual (there was no unity in individuality, and the First Order could not tolerate any internal conflict).

When Hux worked up the courage to ask Phasma why she’d done it, it was months later - when he’d been promoted to a position superior enough to her to guarantee safety.

She pulled off her helmet again, tucking it with care under her arm. When she looked back down at him, her thin lips twisted into a something resembling amusement. “You had the air of a king. It was amusing.”

And Hux took in her shining chrome armor and tilted up chin, like she could care less what the world would make of her, and he couldn't bring himself to take offense.

He thought, _This woman is strong_.

She reached out to him in a thick, deep orange rope.

He couldn't see his own, but Hux imagined he'd done the same.

 

* * *

 

Hux was promoted to general a year or two down the line, as he found himself in favor with Snoke - a being greater than he could ever hope to be, which was something he found himself strangely fine with. (Then again, he was not so surprised. Snoke was the closest thing to an all-seeing deity that this galaxy had to offer, and Hux admired and feared this.)

( _I can sense your ambition_ , a deep, delighted voice crooned in his dreams. He woke up his first night as general layered in a fine cold sweat.

Naturally, it didn’t happen again.)

He was given command of the newest ship, the _Finalizer_ , and was handed the Starkiller Project. Hux was amazed and delighted by such great responsibilities, a rush of euphoria leaving him light-headed. (Or was it the celebratory drink he’d indulged himself in that evening? After another drink, he no longer cared.)

With such responsibility and power came the chains - the restraints holding him back, the warning not to overstep his job's boundaries.

He was designated as the one who had to deal with Kylo Ren.

Everyone feared the man; you'd have to be an idiot of the highest degree not to. Ren had powers to do the unspeakable; he routinely destroyed the ship in his fits of fury; he stomped about the ship, occasionally lurking or staring hard at crew members.

Which made him sound like a petulant child. But a very cruel, very twisted, and very frightening child nonetheless.

To be honest, while he appreciated his newfound prestige, Hux did not want to deal with the man either. He was too volatile. While one could count on Phasma to get the job done efficiently and with little trouble, the Resistance to lead desperate attacks whenever confronted with a small threat ( _like the stumbling fools they are_ ), and even Snoke to react with calculated and rational reasoning, Kylo Ren was prone to nothing.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t see Ren’s connections. He was fairly sure that it was because Ren was Force sensitive and so could likely cloak such mental vulnerability. (Hux couldn’t check this theory on Snoke, though, as he never had and never expected to meet the being in person.)

Ren only spoke to him when he needed to. And when he did, it was always in that sick, slow, condescending tone.

He'd ask an innocent question, like, “Have you had any progress with the Starkiller Project?”

And Hux would reply with, “Yes. My men are about to finish construction on the planet’s energy shield generator.”

And Ren, even though he knew perfectly well that they were working as quickly as humanly possible, would say from behind that damn helmet, “It’s about time.”

(Literally - he’d had a team of statisticians calculate the fastest possible time to build the station, and they were right on schedule.)

He was pretty sure that ‘prick’ and ‘Kylo Ren’ were synonyms.

Hmm… No, that wasn’t entirely true.

There was something refreshing about being able to talk to someone without seeing exactly what they thought of you. Because Hux could see neither his face nor his connections, Kylo Ren became a challenge to pick apart. He had to look at his subtle details, his body language, for cues.

After a while, Kylo Ren was found to be something of an open book. His shoulders tensed and his hands tightened into gloved fists when he was about to explode with sheer energy - something usually prompted by an idiotic officer ( _honestly, was he the only capable one?_ ), which made it easier to spot. He clunked - there was no other word for it - down the corridors rather frequently, which Hux finally realized was not solely meant for intimidation: if he was somewhat hunched over, he was angry; if he was straight-backed, he was proud; if he was moving quickly, he was excited.

Later, Hux noticed similar patterns in everyone else. He would pay more attention to that, but it was quite honestly much easier to just watch their connections - he realized that their emotions were easily read, either way. The threads were simply more distracting.

 

* * *

 

Kylo Ren was a surprise.

Hux usually watched him from a safe distance away, when he wasn’t in close proximity. That was just asking for a death wish. But he hadn’t realized that Kylo Ren had noticed so thoroughly - he hadn’t planned for it. Hux had been quite content with staring from a distance, which sounded weird, but really wasn’t, because everyone on the _Finalizer_ was used to his intimidating manner.

So when he stepped into an empty weaponry command center (the cannon was down and the usual crew had gone to a meeting with one of the technicians) and found that his legs refused to move, he understandably felt panicked. These were sure signs of Force usage, and there was only one Force user aboard the Finalizer.

 _Is Snoke tired of me?_ Hux wondered, uneasy. _Has Ren been ordered to execute me? Am I to lose everything I’ve worked for on the whim of a mood? What the hell is this?_

(He especially wondered that last bit, taking in his dark surroundings lit only by the glow of various buttons and computer screens. Also troubling was the fact that he couldn't remember why he'd even entered the room.)

“You’ve been watching me.” The voice that spoke the words was short, clipped, but smooth. And strangely soft. “Why?”

Hux kept a neutral face. Considering he was dealing with a Force user, he’d be a fool to even attempt lying. “I’d be a fool not to.”

“No.” Kylo Ren stepped out from behind a command computer, having been mostly obstructed from view by the long shadows. Hux would have laughed at the situation (the drama was certainly not needed and really quite comical) had he not been afraid for his life. “There’s something...different about you.”

Hux found himself admiring Ren’s cool and even tone. Even with the voice scrambler, he could sense the control and calm that the man managed to hold, as well the evident fury that was simmering behind it. It was alluring.

“I fail to see the purpose of the theatrics.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“You’re not asking any questions.”

“I could pluck the answers from your mind with ease.”

“Then why haven’t you yet?”

Hux knew he’d provoked Ren. The air crackled with a sudden energy spike, which made Hux’s heart leap into his throat.

_Painstaking silence._

He waited for an ‘invisible iron hand’ to grab at his mind, to shake it and to toy with it, just like it did with the witnesses that Hux read reports of. They’d described nausea, searing pain, needles crawling under skin, and the return of their worst fears and memories. And these were some of the lighter tortures they’d claimed to have felt.

He was surprised when instead, the door to the command center opened and shut. He didn’t regain control of his legs until five minutes after the other man left.


	3. windows to the soul

Hux was a clever man; he knew that. So he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he hadn’t figured out the activation of his ability _until today_ , a week after gaining his position as general and decades after he'd seen the orphan waif pierce him with hate.

It was sad and pathetic, but Hux was too interested to get overly upset.

He’d realized it today, the activation, when he’d gone to inspect the new troops. They always took off their helmets before meeting him, but the troops were behind schedule this time (which could never happen again - sloppiness and disorganization never won a war).

Hux had entered the cold, metal landing platform and been shocked to find _the finest troops in the galaxy_ stumbling and tripping over themselves in a failed effort to regain a semblance of order.

He snarled at the nearest officer “ _get them into order_ ” (and felt a twinge of satisfaction at the immediate reaction - at least one thing was going right).

He had had them trained better than this. This was not up to par; this did not meet the standards; how could they be a great empire without unity; why was this not fixed sooner?

And in the chaos (officers marched sharply about the room to resend the troopers to their proper locations) something at the back of his mind was clawing at his focus. He tried to wave it off, further irritated by the extra noise, until he realized his instinct was correct.

There was something wrong with this room.

Hux winced, unable to stop the physical reflex. The room was spinning. The sleep he’d been getting recently - or the large lack thereof - was beginning to affect him. He realized then that he shouldn’t have reacted so violently to the disorganization.

Hux trained his gaze to the floor, clenched and unclenched his fists tightly, and ordered himself to _get a damned grip_.

When he trusted himself enough to make a clear observation, Hux stood up straight and looked about the room, and nearly recoiled at the sudden clarity that hit him like lightning down his spine.

The new troopers…

They didn’t have any connections.

Hux couldn’t help but stare at them all, at their blank black-&-white helmets. What was so different about them? (It was refreshing, he found, that they did not reach out to him, to touch him, with their threads.) He could walk among them and never know exactly what they thought of him. He didn’t have to wait for their silent judgements.

It was peaceful.

Finally, the last stormtrooper was in place, and Hux was nearly breathless with excitement. He fuzzily recollected that time before he was seven, when everything was quieter and calmer. When his brain wasn’t a frantic mess trying to keep up with his strange perception of the world. When he had had that childlike wonder that would ghost a smile across his stern father’s face. When he wasn’t a freak.

And then the stormtroopers removed their helmets, and paradise went up in flames.

As soon as he made eye contact with the first one, a young man with light hair and dark eyes, an ever so slight orange thread shakily made its way through the air and latched itself to Hux’s chest.

(His father had told him when he was young that eye-contact was a powerful thing. You could see someone’s mind through their eyes, he'd claimed, because the eyes were the window to the soul.

It was an oddly sentimental phrase, but Brendol Hux did thaw every once in awhile. Hux hoarded those memories especially with fervor.)

Hux scanned the rest of the room. He looked at each of their faces, looked into each of their blank eyes, testing his ( _his father's?_ ) theory. And slowly, a thin mass of orange crept through the air and snaked around his waist. It was like a tsunami: an orange, beautiful, alluring, revolting, terrifying mass threatening to swallow him in its depths.

Hux felt his stomach turn over, and a ghost of the taste of bile flooded his mouth. It was disgusting; it took all of his willpower to not gag.

Because _of course._  Of _course_ it was too much to ask for a bit of peace.

He’d never hated being right as much as he did in that moment.

 

* * *

 

Hux had never wanted to see anyone’s connections. He’d be better off not seeing anyone’s vulnerabilities laid out so blatantly; he was sure of it. It was as if everyone was naked. It made him uncomfortable.

And then he’d met fucking Kylo Ren.

The day after he’d been ‘kidnapped’ by Snoke’s pupil, he’d dismissed it as a fluke. He took the unspoken threat seriously, though. (He didn't particularly feel like dying.) Ren didn’t behave any differently than before, so it was easy for Hux to cease to observe him. He wouldn't learn any more than he already had.

Obviously.

 

* * *

 

And then Hux was glad for the first time for his ability.

Two weeks after the first kidnapping incident and one week after the stormtroopers incident, Hux was kidnapped (rekidnapped?) _again_ and by the _same_ person.

“This is beginning to get old,” Hux said, straightening his back to give off a false sense of confidence. His legs were frozen (again) and the room was dark ( _again_ ).

“You haven’t been watching me anymore.” The tone was controlled as usual, but the words were accusing.

“Why? Should I?” He attempted to step forward, then remembered that he was paralyzed from the waist down. “And is this really necessary?” Hux asked, waving vaguely towards his feet. Snark and blatant disregard for status, Hux figured, would be the best way to fool Ren. He was fairly sure that the creature had believed Hux's false bravado in the past.

Yet instead of backing off, Kylo Ren stepped forward. “I need to be sure you won’t run, General.”

Hux raised an eyebrow with careful nonchalance. “And I shouldn't need a reason to.”

The garish creature began pacing, the mask’s eye-slit never leaving his face. Hux resisted the urge to adjust his uniform as the air became uncomfortably electric. “Would you run, then? Were I to let go?” His voice was dangerously soft.

Hux stared back, feeling all of a sudden rather brave ( _foolish_ ). “Don't be ridiculous, Ren.”

The pressure around his legs released in a breath; it swept away from his legs like water rushing away from a shore.

Kylo Ren stopped pacing. The two men stood face-to-face ( _face-to-mask_ ).

Hux shuffled his feet so that they were shoulder-width apart. He didn't dare move any further; it felt like he'd lose somehow, like it was a challenge he must not arise to.

“This has been a nice chat,” Hux lied cleanly, “but could I return to work now? I am quite busy these days.” ( _Unlike you, evidently_ , he thought viciously.)

What he didn't expect was for Ren to move his arms up to the sides of his head.

( _Was this it? The end? Death by some mystical sorcery? Dead, lain forgotten in a dark corner? Dead, lost in the murky waters of history? Dead, to leave behind a failed great order?_ )

His heart rate sped up slightly. He wasn't prepared for combat. He was an intelligent man, but he'd never been much of a fighter. A disappointment to his father.

(Oh, but the true disappointment he'd never discovered. Hux planned on taking the connections to the grave.

At this point, he was fairly sure it was lunacy. There was no other explanation.)

Hux flexed his hands, twitching his fingers ever so slightly to his unique blaster. He could at least attempt to use it against Ren if it came down to that. Hux doubted it would do much damage, though it wouldn't hurt much more than it already had to try.

Then, Ren gripped the sides of his own helmet and pulled it off.

That was interesting.

Hux didn't know what he'd been expecting, but before him was a man of around his age with thick black hair and glittering eyes. Ren tilted his head to the side, smirking slightly. “Not what you were thinking?”

Ren's voice was still soft and controlled, but now there was a _human_ speaking words in that damned tone. He wasn't a creature of smooth metal and rough black cloth. He was flesh and blood; he was real and see-able (and touch-able).

(And if Ren’s voice - as brittle as ice and rich as the night sky - naked without the scrambler - made Hux’s mouth go dry, no one would ever need know.)

So, no, he hadn't expected that at all.

“No,” he answered finally, hating that his voice came out as little more than a breath. (He gave speeches routinely, and he couldn't say one word? _Pathetic_.)

Hux needed a distraction, and quickly. Ren’s smirk did unpleasant things to his blood and his mind and his pulse and his shaking, traitorous hands -

A flash of orange caught his eye and his gaze dropped immediately to the space between him and Ren. He stared as small strings started weaving their way through the air towards him. It was strange - he'd nearly forgotten about them.

He watched and observed:

a thread of deep-orange respect;

a thin string of yellow-green envy;

a knotted fuschia string for uncertainty.

Hux had expected that much (offended as he was by the meager size of the respect string). What he hadn't expected was the string he despised the most, the string the color of fire:

 _lust_.

That was a novel idea. He’d never considered it before (he'd never seen _these_ ones extend towards him, but it was sickening how many were laced across the _Finalizer_ 's crew); he'd need more information to continue.

(“ _to continue”_? These were dangerously choppy waters that he was testing.)

Hux stepped forward slightly and looked Ren up and down, matching the other man's cool gaze when his cold blue eyes fixated upon Ren’s flickering black ones. What was he to make of this walking, talking volatile mess they called Kylo Ren?

What Ren was was a juxtaposition in himself: thin and sinewy but filled with more power than everyone aboard the _Finalizer_ ; pretty and pale but swathed in thick black robes that spoke of his true nature; plastered in a gamely smile to mask the depths of his volatile nature.

(If that wasn't attractive, Hux wasn't sure what was.)

“What do you want from me?” Hux asked, not breaking eye contact. The air crackled once more. The tips of his fingers tingled. He cleared his throat. “That is, why am I actually here?”

Ren stepped forward until they were half a foot apart. “Do you really want to know?” the man asked lowly, eyebrows moving up slightly.

(His voice was addictive. It flowed like water but tasted like honey and yet still threw itself at the worn solidarity of the rocky cliffs.)

 _Yes_ , Hux thought. “That depends on the information’s source. Is it reliable?” He swallowed lightly when he saw the fire-red string glow and hum with energy.

Hux stepped forward, and there was an inch between the two men. He could feel Ren's body heat; it rolled of him in waves; he felt like a furnace in the cold vacuum of space; everything about him was expanded and increased by the Force.

“Yes. Always.”

The air was thick with _want_. It felt ridiculous - the entire situation was scandalous, not to mention highly laughable and unbelievable and oh _damn_ , Ren's gloved hand was moving up to touch his cheek, this was getting _weird as fuck when did this happen why why me what is he doing-?_

And then one gloves hand moved to his back and ( _fuck it all_ ) Hux realized that the only thing he could do then was grab the man's face and kiss the hell out of him.

 

* * *

 

Really, it was his only option.

It wasn't like he'd _wanted_ to.

That would be more ridiculous than Ren’s obvious lapse of judgement when he kissed him back, hard and furious and powerful and -

 

* * *

 

Fine. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

 

* * *

 

This continued for a few weeks. Stolen kisses (lots of them) throughout the day whenever they could.

Hux felt guilty for all of them. He wondered everyday if he was being emotionally compromised. And when he reminded himself that _as long as he didn't get attached it was fine_ , it felt like he was lying to himself.

He hated the mess that the aftermath made him, but he found himself craving those times all the same.

Ren (Kylo was far too intimate) was greedy when kissing, as he was with every other aspect of his life. He stole them rapidly and without mercy, leaving them both panting and breathless and still craving more. He marked Hux with his mouth, stealing his neck with his teeth. He claimed Hux as they grasped at each other, both wanting more than either of them could give. Hux had become addicted to the frenzied and impassioned atmosphere, and the fiery red snake that wrapped around his waist and grew with every kiss and moan and even _word_ exchanged between them.

(Once, Hux had been fascinated to see the red string shudder and hum when he'd locked eyes with and nodded in smug knowing to Ren in the hallway. That was _certainly_ quite interesting.)

And even with the simmering guilt that he couldn't quite shake, Hux was also sleeping better than he had in decades.

It was nice.


	4. as green as grass

Hux ran his fingers through Ren's thick hair, his fingers sheened in sweat. He opened his eyes with a shuddering breath, allowing a wry smirk to cross his face. He didn't trust himself to speak yet, lest he make an even greater fool of himself. Hux shifted slightly to drape his arms over the other man's bare shoulders.

(He wondered if he was being too intimate. What were they, exactly? Was he truly becoming attached?

 _Don't overthink it_ , he warned himself sternly for what felt like the hundredth time. _Screwing around means nothing._ )

Ren didn't move from where he had Hux pressed against the wall. (Hux didn't expect him to.) They stayed like that for a moment ( _seconds felt like hours_ ), resting in the calmed atmosphere. It was all too easy to forget who they were - destroyers of worlds, manipulators of the galaxy, men with far too much responsibility on their shoulders, lunatics of a special sort.

Ren had to ruin that, as he usually did with most things.

“You know,” Ren murmured into his ear, “you never did explain why you were staring at me at the beginning.”

Hux quickly absorbed the shock and considered that statement and its implications for half a second.

If he so much as breathed out of turn, his secrets could be easily revealed.

If he froze, Hux would give everything away.

He could tell when Kylo Ren sifted through his mind, and if he did right then, Hux would be a dead man walking (or not even that, given Ren's temper).

So Hux carefully gave a noncommittal ‘mhmm’, dread seeping into his previously fuzzy thoughts. _Fuck_. If Kylo Ren found out that he was _strange_ (insane?)…

“I want an explanation,” Ren continued when it became apparent that Hux would not elaborate. Ren trained his eyes from Hux’s ever-so-slightly parted lips to his blue eyes.

Hux didn't break the eye contact. “What a surprise,” he replied, sculpting his face back to neutral. It was harder than it should have been; he still felt dizzy in the head. ( _Any emotion is a weakness_ , his father had warned - why hadn't Hux heeded it? He was a fool. He should never have let this start.) “Maybe I just found you attractive.”

“I do not joke, General,” Ren said, and Hux felt a taste of cultivated frustration in his wrists, where Ren had decided he should cut off Hux's circulation. (It actually felt rather good, but, again, some things should be taken to the grave.)

Hux decided to try again. “I was reading your body language. You’re highly prone to destroying my ship in your fits of anger, as I’m sure you can recall.”

“And you had to observe for so many days? I highly doubt it, _General_.”

Hux stayed silent, which only filled the room (Hux’s private quarters, actually) with frothing anger. Against his will, Hux’s gaze shifted from directly at Ren's eyes to the opposite wall. (So much for staying strong. _Coward._ )

“Do not keep secrets from me.”

“This is a secret you do not need to hear; trust me on this, _Ren_.” His mind was suddenly cleared. Ren's insistence ( _insolence_ ) had snapped whatever had been clouding Hux's mind. ( _He could breathe again._ )

“But I want to hear it.” Ren's eyes darkened and his muscles tensed, and the childish statement set something off that made Hux feel cold and small. He knew then that it was a reminder of what the Force wielder could do - the furniture rattled slightly, the room temperature dropped a degree or two, and his eyes were narrowed and cold and dark. “I will take it from you,” he whispered, something more than the man behind a misleadingly even tone, “I will drag that secret from the depths of your memories. You cannot stop me.”

(His sentences were clipped, efficient, soft. So much like their deliverer, yet so separate at the same time.)

“Was that the point of this, then?” Hux asked, hating the way his fingers trembled against Ren's shoulder blades; hating Ren's dark, dark eyes; hating how his stomach seemed to be clenching in on itself; hating that he, Hux, was _hurt_ by the notion of _this weakness_ being trickery. “Propositioning me like this? Dragging me to comfort only to twist its illusion against me? Why are we doing this, Ren? What am I here for?” Hux could feel himself seething; it was all he could do to not punch Ren in his smug, perfectly sculpted face; _how could he have been such a fool?_

Attachment was for fools. Nothing tangible in this universe was permanent, especially lives. He could not let this happen again.

Because that was what Ren wanted all along, wasn't it?

Hux at his mercy? Hux, spilling his secrets? Hux, listing his sins off the tip of his tongue? Hux, talking and talking and revealing...

“If all I wanted was an answer,” Ren said slowly, taking his hands back from about Hux. He stepped back, and the warmth of his body left with him. Hux swept up whatever was left of his dignity and forced himself to lock eyes with Ren again, even if the chaotic turmoil in his dark orbs seemed to bore holes into Hux's skull. (He would not back down this time.)

Ren continued, “If all I wanted was an answer, I would not have taken so much more. Surely you are not so stupid to think I would go through all of this trouble for something I could have plucked from your mind with ease.”

Hux could feel his ears burn, and suddenly did not mind at all the distance between them. His skin crawled. “Trouble, is this?” he all but demanded.

A ghost of a smirk flitted across Ren’s face as he smoothly made his way across the room and picked his shirt up off the dark-tiled ground. “Perhaps not _trouble_ , exactly,” he conceded.

Hux moved forward - more stiffly than Ren - and grabbed his own shirt, shoving his limbs back through the sleeves with perhaps more force than was necessary. He’d only lost his upper pieces of clothing, and so changing back was a relatively easy feat. He plucked his coat from the nearby chair and tossed it on quickly, hating how uncomfortably warm it was against his skin. (Not like Ren -)

“You always,” Hux said suddenly, fingers hovering above a button, mind focusing on choosing a word wisely, “threaten me with your mind sorcery.” (What else was he supposed to call it?) “Why do you not follow through on it?”

Ren shrugged back on his cloak. “Do you want me to?”

He turned around so that he would not have to look at Ren. Hux still could not shake the repulsion that had clung to his bones after Ren had attempted to take advantage of his weak state like that. “Of course not,” Hux snapped, violently adjusting his coat. He yanked sharply on the lapels. “It was just a question.”

“So was mine.” Ren sounded almost defensive. No? No. Ren did not do defensive. It was more...accusatory.

Hux stopped adjusting his clothing. “It's a sore topic.” He turned back around to reface Kylo Ren, shoulders back. Hux hoped he gave off an air of confidence. “I’m afraid you'll have to leave now. I have a meeting soon.”

“Yes, the dinner party, is it? Then there's hardly time to waste.”

Hux knew sarcasm when he heard it, and he was not a supporter of it (when Kylo Ren was involved, anyhow). “Leave,” he ordered, flexing a hand subconsciously.

Ren smirked at him, heading for the door with a damn swagger in his step. “Good _afternoon_ , General. You will tell me eventually, you know.”

“I doubt that,” Hux replied stiffly, just to get the last word.

The Force user replaced the helmet on his head and let himself out. As he did, Hux noticed something peculiar out of the corner of his eye.

Hux didn’t usually look at the connections from Kylo Ren to himself. It was too much like rifling through his mind. Ren had rarely ever done so to Hux (Hux wondered if that was weakness on Ren’s part), and so Hux tended to avoid looking there when around Ren. Ren was also at his own status within the ranks, and was a danger to Hux in this and his strange sorcery.

But this time, there was a change in the strings. It didn’t often happen with stubborn people like Ren. Yet there it was. He registered _respect_ , _lust_ , _envy_ \- but _uncertainty_ had vanished and in its place was a string _as green as grass_.

It was frailer than the others, but Hux knew what it meant. All. Too. Well.

 

* * *

  

When he was a young child, Hux had wished he could see his own connections. He’d figured it'd be easier to know exactly what he was thinking of a certain person without having to go through the drama of relationships.

The connections extended from and attached to the region about the solar plexus. However, while most connections that showed were mutual, a particular relation would show up if strong enough - it would simply extend from one person’s chest and hover above that of the other. That was what it was like for Hux: when he walked into a room, connections from everyone else would fade into his vision, loosely floating in front of his chest. Nothing reached out from him.

He remembered noticing the non-mutual relationships first when he was nine. (He’d lived a fairly sheltered life, so Hux did not berate himself for not noticing such incidents before.) It was during a small dinner party - his father had invited a female officer and her daughter to dinner to discuss a plan for weaponry education with the new stormtroopers.

Her daughter was a little younger than Hux, so she’d clung to her mother’s hand throughout most of the night. She’d reached out to the elder Hux in a pink-ish-purple _trepidation_ (which the younger Hux found ridiculous; his father was not a fearsome man) and to the younger Hux in a creamy _curiosity_ (which was mildly insulting).

But what was far more interesting was her connection to her mother. Her mother was a cold woman. She’d held her daughter’s hand to save face - Hux could see it in the frown lines etched lightly across her countenance. It made sense that she’d developed a sickly yellow thread for the girl.

The little girl was different. She’d still held those values of family: that blood was thicker than water, that you somehow owed your parents for more than just creating and providing for you during your childhood. She’d returned the mild disgust from her mother with a cerulean hued string of _admiration_.

And they were still mother and daughter, after all. Even if the mother didn’t love her daughter as much as she should (which, by Hux’s mark, was debatable), they still had one string in common:

grass-green _fondness_.

 

* * *

  

Love didn’t exist. Hux had searched for it many times throughout his life, had wondered over and over if his strange sense was mistaking that shade of red for _lust_ instead of _love_.

He eventually decided that love was too pure to exist. In this world, nothing was ever that simple. Relationships were built on more than that.

The strings would never lie.


	5. a fuzzy mess

Hux decided that the most effective way to distract himself for a few hours was by walking rounds down the _Finalizer_ ’s hallways. He couldn't stay cooped up in his quarters - the air was far too charged - but he didn't want to see anyone (or their connections) any time soon. Taking a solo walk and turning lots of corners essentially gave him the blank peace he needed to clear his frenzied mind.

 

* * *

 

He was forced to give up his walk when he passed Captain Phasma, who warned him that his hair was in disorder (damn Ren and his fingers) and that the meeting was to start in 45 minutes.

He would typically arrive at meetings an hour before the other officers. He was fine with that - he played host for a reason. Each of them had something to offer him; each of their connections had something to be exploited.

That didn’t give him much time to clean-up, though. (His walk had taken him longer than he’d anticipated.) After he half-heartedly combed back his hair, Hux made his way to the dining room, flicking through files on his tablet along the way, regarding the newest trooper updates. (He filled with dread at the amount of messages from different officers that he had yet to reply to.)

Hux opened a message regarding the day's meeting and found that he was to meet with the stormtrooper team captains for updates on their “simulation improvements and combative progress”.

He usually looked forward to these sorts of meetings. His father had been the first to develop preliminary plans for this efficient and highly skilled army, and Hux rather felt that he was carrying on a family legacy by watching it come to life.

Instead, this time, he couldn't help but burn inside. Disgust, fury, and discomfort waged war for dominance of his attentions, no thanks to the Ren. (He supposed the walk hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped.)

Ren was unstable, and probably insane. _Hux_ was insane for going along with Ren (and for seeing the connections, but that wasn't quite related).

They were using each other. That was obvious, but Hux couldn't help the unpleasant coil that wound around his mind when he thought of it. Then the unpleasantness turned to discomfort as he recalled the flash of grass-green string that he'd caught.

 _Fondness_. How disgusting.

Hux tugged on the cuff of his glove. It itched against his skin, and he knew that would bother him for the entirety of the meeting. Which was bad, considering they usually went long into the night.

“General.”

Hux turned around to find a chrome-colored storm trooper short on his tails. “Ah. Captain Phasma. A pleasure, as always.” (He didn’t even need to lie about that last bit. She was a good soldier and capable advisor.)

The usual threads were there, Hux noted, but the deep orange one twanged slightly in response to his honest comment.

“The same to you, General. Shall we?” Phasma pulled off her metallic helmet and nodded towards the thick metal door in front of them. Officers were not allowed to wear helmets during meetings; Hux wasn't sure if it was so that non-verbal communication was made possible, or if it was simply for common courtesy.

Hux was pretty sure it was the latter. The officers had fairly strong strings of orange in regards to one another, with yellow-green envy in healthy doses here and there. (The indoctrinations worked wonderfully.)

“Yes.” He opened the door and stepped into the empty room.

 

* * *

 

Hux was ashamed to admit that he'd caught his focus wavering a few times throughout the meeting. For whatever reason, his thoughts kept shifting and spiraling in favor of a certain masked warrior.

He hated Ren; he was sure of that now. Ren should never have asked that question, and especially not at that moment. That was one boundary Hux would never forgive him for crossing. Torture for information was one thing, but putting someone in a compromising position like that and delving for answers was another. At least with the former, the torturer’s intent was clear. The latter relied on playing and twisting emotions and that sort of cruelty was unforgivable.

(Of course, his traitorous mind just had to delve deeper into the statement.)

 _What are you so afraid of?_ whispered Doubt. _That he'll think you're insane? Why should you care about his opinion so much? You're using him. He's obviously using you._

 _Have you become attached?_ Brendol Hux whispered from the back of his mind.

Hux wanted to punch a wall or throttle an officer or rip up the stack of papers in front of him because _to hell with it._

He knew the answer to the question.

He didn't like it at all.

So he kept a neutral expression and listened carefully to the meeting and made notes here and there because there was no damn way he'd give Ren a sliver of satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

He was the last to leave the meeting, as he was required to converse with every single officer in the room. It didn't usually feel like such a chore, but now Hux just felt tired and sick of all the orange and yellow-green that flowed through the room.

All that he wanted at this point was to return to his quarters and take a nap. He'd had trouble sleeping in the past, but today had been so exhausting that Hux honestly believed he'd lose consciousness as soon as he so much as touched a pillow.

Phasma may have noticed, because he had seen the flicker of concern that crossed her face before she’d replaced her helmet on her head. But she hadn't stepped in to help him or to inquire as to his health. She’d simply shaken his hand and left, and Hux was grateful for the gesture.

“...thank you, General Hux,” the older man concluded, smiling thinly.

Hux nodded, extending his hand to shake. “Of course. Thank you, as well, sir.”

They gripped hands firmly and the older man left with a wispy trail of forest-green trust. Hux watched with cool surprise. Trust was a dangerous game. Thankfully, Hux knew how to play it.

(Kylo Ren was forgotten for a minute.)

 

* * *

 

“You asked me what we were doing.”

Hux quickly masked the surprised jolt he'd felt at the sound of the other man's voice. “I recall,” he responded smoothly, going still. Kylo Ren was about a foot behind him in the long, cool hallway. He could not run or pretend he hadn't heard. (Even so, that would be petty.)

“What did you think we were doing?” Even with the voice scrambler, Hux could hear the curiosity. (It was simply that: not an innocent inquiry or burning questioning, but a mild curiosity.) As if sensing Hux's thoughts, he added, “Don't try to lie to me.”

Hux hesitated. “I'd say we were screwing around.”

Ren stared at him impassively from behind his helmet. “It didn't seem like it to me.”

“I believe that you'll recall that I’d asked you that question first.”

“Yes.” Kylo Ren continued to watch him from that unblinking, dark slit of an eye.

A silence ensued that threatened to devour Hux. He was tempted to glance down at the strings between him and Ren, but there was an itch he couldn't scratch that told him that would be admitting defeat. It would be admitting that he wasn’t as clever as he’d like to think because he couldn't judge and manipulate without his strange ability. It would be admitting that he didn't understand living emotions.

( _Would that such a bad thing?_ his father asked. _You’d have far less distraction._ )

Something inside Hux snapped. “Your answer?” Hux implored coldly, and he really shouldn't have, because he'd just given all of his cards away. Hux was a patient man, more patient than most. Anyone who dealt with Ren’s rages on a weekly basis would have to be.

Ren knew this, and so Ren knew what to deduce from his slip.

“You want me,” Ren breathed.

“I never said -” Hux couldn’t stop the panic that rippled through his veins.

“We've been over this,” Ren said dismissively. “Don't even attempt to lie to me, General.” He moved forward and curled his gloved hand around Hux's elbow, tugging him lightly in the direction of a dark corner.

“You cannot manhandle me like this, Ren,” Hux hissed, trying to tug his arm back to no avail.

Ren’s mask released a rush of shuddering breath that resembled laughter. “I've done worse.”

Hux wrenched his elbow away, taking a hurried step back, his greatcoat suddenly far too heavy. “I'm not doing this now.”

“What,” Ren drawled, sounding faintly amused, “do you want an apology? You're not getting one.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Hux bit out, crossing his arms tightly. It would be foolhardy and melodramatic to try to get away; Ren would only laugh and freeze him with a wave. They weren't done until Ren decided they were.

Ren carefully slid his helmet off, dropping it to the floor with a thud. As per usual, much to Hux's disappointment, the sight of the other man's face made his heart skip a beat.

He wondered vaguely if Ren could hear his heartbeat. Hux was sure that even without some Force influence (or however it worked; he didn't care enough right now to think about it), his heart thudding against his chest cavity was loud enough to shake the room.

“Tell me,” Ren demanded in that strange, soft tone.

“No.”

“We can do this the easy way,” Ren offered, “or the hard way.” He leaned against the wall, his back flat on the metal and arms loosely crossed. “Your choice.”

Hux counted to five. Then he took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then he realized that there really wasn't a choice at all.

“I'm insane,” he tells Ren, feeling suddenly more tired than before. He hadn't thought it was possible. Yet here he was, the weight of the galaxy pressing with heavy hands on his shoulders.

The corners of Ren's eyes crinkled. “I've noticed.”

“No, I…” Hux hesitated.

It looked as if he wasn't going to take the secret to the grave. No, the hidden world of colored strings was about to be exposed to _this_ man of all people - Kylo Ren, a murderer (not that Hux was any better), a petulant man-child, a severe pain in the ass, and the man Hux most hated.

“...I can see things,” he said uncertainly. Ren looked as if he were about to interrupt with something nastily sarcastic, so Hux hurriedly continued. “I see relationships. They take the form of colored strings and they connect people to one another.”

Kylo Ren didn't blink.

Somehow, this managed to boil Hux’s blood.

“Deep orange,” Hux stated, voice nearly shaking with nerves and frustration, feeling the need to defend himself somehow, “for respect. Forest-green for trust. Yellow-green for envy. Deep purple for hate -” ( _there was no purple of any shade between him and Ren_ , Hux realized, his heart skipping another beat) “- light blue for comradery,” he finished lamely.

Kylo Ren was silent. “You're not lying.” He adjusted his cloak absentmindedly, then waved his gloved hand between the two of them. “What's between us?”

Hux dropped his gaze to the air between them. He wondered if Ren was as good a mind reader as they claimed he was. “A small degree of respect, a smudge of envy,” (Ren snorted lightly at that one), “and a braid of lust.”

“There's more. Don't lie to me, General,” Ren warned. Hux wished he'd never gotten involved with this man, wished he'd never even spoken to him. 

Hux watched the green ribbon that reminded him of grass. It twirled about, shining in an invisible light source. The ribbon was beautiful in the poignant way that a lightning-thunderstorm was.

“One more,” he replied, clearing his throat. His voice had come off as thick, and that would not do. “There's just one more. It’s a grass-green.”

Hux had hoped he wouldn't further press the question, so of course he did.

“What does it mean?”

Hux knew that if he tried to lie, he would end up with a broken neck. Somehow, that seemed light in comparison to the truth. “Ren,” he tried, hoping Ren would overcome his stubbornness for at least a minute.

“I’m getting impatient." 

Hux felt like stomping a foot. (Ren was rubbing off on him in the worst way possible.) “Fondness,” he hissed under his breath.

“I can’t hear you,” Ren snapped, frustration flashing onto his face, twisting his features.

Hux crossed his arms, scowling. “Fondness. And it’s coming from you. Are you happy?”

Then Hux wondered why he’d been so against revealing that. It was _Ren_ ’s weakness. If anything, Hux should be gloating about this. That Ren finally had a chink in his dark, cold armor - and, of all things, it was a redheaded general that gave fancy speeches. But looking at Ren now, he could hardly say he was happy.

“You’re lying,” Ren accused with narrowed eyes, flinching back as if he’d been burned.

“Search me with your mystical sorcery,” Hux bit back as he spread his arms in mockery, “you know it’s true.”

“You must be lying,” Ren insisted. “I wouldn’t - I couldn’t -” He was stumbling over his words and was practically shaking, which was how Hux was sure that something of great importance to the ship would be broken later that day.

He figured now would be a good time to make a tactical retreat.

“No.” Ren stared at Hux, hard. “You’re not going to leave until you explain yourself.”

“Reading my mind, now?” Hux asked coldly. (But he halted all of the Escape Plans that had been forming in his head, anyway.)

“No,” Ren said slowly, “I could just tell.”

“That's reassuring.”

“It wasn't supposed to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't _know_.” Ren was thoroughly vexed by now. “I need to know.”

“Excuse me?” Hux was fairly sure the other man wasn't talking about his peculiar phrasing. There was something wild in his eyes, almost unstable. That had scared Hux before, when he'd just begun working with Ren. (Now, he found it easier to react with cool indifference. It got Ren calmer in a more timely fashion, which was far more practical for the ship and its crew.)

“Kiss me,” Ren demanded.

Hux wasn't going to lie - not many things took him by surprise, but this certainly did. “Why?”

Ren ripped off his left glove. “I need to know,” he said by way of explanation, before ripping off the other glove.

Hux was about to protest that it was hardly appropriate for them to behave in this fashion when Ren took his face in his hands and _it_ sort of just happened.

 _It_ happened for more than a moment. _It_ had emotion behind it - anguish, delirious happiness, surprise, irritation, contentment. _It_ was secret and hidden in a dark corridor, like Hux's strings. _It_ was dangerous. _It_ could ruin his career and his life and his mind and soul but _it_ was worth it. _It_ was so obviously wrong, but it came with a sense of _this is right_.

It was just a chaste kiss, but _it_ was also so much more.

They waited for ten quick heartbeats.

“Well,” Ren said, between breaths, their foreheads pressed together, “I suppose you weren't lying after all.”

Hux, too, needed some time to catch his breath. He tapped his fingers lightly on the back of Ren's neck absentmindedly in the meantime. Hux wanted to say something eloquently, but his mind was still catching up to his mouth - improvisation it would be. “You believe me, then?” he tried, nearly stumbling over the words. “I mean… About the,” he swallowed back something sour, “the connections?”

Ren’s dark eyes watched the shorter man curiously. “You have no reason to lie to me about them,” he conceded quietly. “I doubt you'd want me to believe you were insane.”

Hux supposed that it would be a good time to tell Kylo Ren that he was fond of him. That he, too, had a ridiculous weakness. He had allowed himself to be emotionally compromised, to become attached, and to admit it would be the better thing to do.

But everything was still a bit fuzzy, and Hux didn't feel too much like thinking. (Especially not when he saw grass-green.)

“Kiss me, Ren,” Hux demanded.

And he did.


	6. the epilogue

“General,” Phasma started, sounding uncomfortably uncertain.

Hux looked up. “Captain. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Strange, he hadn't heard her enter the room. He glanced down at his stack of paperwork, surprised at how large the ‘completed’ pile was. _When had he filled that out? Was that even what he had been doing for the past half-hour? How long had he been here?_

“Not so much a pleasure as a concern,” Phasma said coyly. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, but the rest of her chrome armor was intact and as faultless as usual.

“How so?” Hux was grudgingly intrigued now; he pushed his paperwork a bit to the side. It had quickly become boring and tiresome in the last five seconds. As it likely had been for the past half-hour that he could not recall.

“I understand, sir, that it's none of my business…”

“But?” Hux prompted. Phasma rarely addressed him as ‘sir’ when they were in private. What was going on that had her so worried?

“...but both you and Lord Ren have been of significantly higher morale as of late.” Phasma watched him intently with her sharp, calculating eyes. (Sometimes Hux preferred talking to her when she had her helmet on. It was far less intimidating.)

Hux frowned. “What are you implying?” he asked sharply, guilt and defeat washing over. Did Phasma know of him and Ren? Was that what this was about?

He began mental preparations that would need to be carried out before his resignation.

“Sir,” Phasma said evenly, “will Kylo Ren be leaving the _Finalizer_?”

Hux was about to ask Phasma what the hell had moved her to even _consider_ that when he remembered his and Ren's often strenuous relationship.

Or rather, he realized, what _had_ been a  strenuous relationship. Of course - they'd forgotten to be insufferably annoying to one another in front of the crew. A detail they’d overlooked.

(Damn. He really was going soft.)

“Captain, I can assure you that Kylo Ren will not be leaving this ship any time soon,” Hux offered, mildly entertained by the flash of disappointment in her eyes. It seemed as if he were not the only one irritated by Ren. He assumed that the interrogation was over and reluctantly pulled a document towards himself.

But she wasn’t finished. The captain considered Hux thoughtfully. “If so, then why the jubilant moods?”

Hux blinked in horror. _Jubilant?_ “Do you care to repeat that, Captain?” Hux stood up from behind his desk, attempting an air of authority. (As soon as he did, he wondered why he even bothered. Phasma was still considerably taller than him.)

“I was merely inquiring,” Phasma repeated dryly, “as to your good mood. Does it have anything to do with Kylo Ren?” She appraised him with a ghost of a smirk, and Hux knew then that everything from before was a lie. She knew; she had likely always known. This was just her confirmation gloat.

(Though…perhaps it was not a total lie. While Phasma seemed to be reaching out to Hux in _concern_ quite a bit, it was not just recently. She'd developed a slight indigo thread for him after that fateful meeting (the one that had ended with the definition of his and Ren’s places with one another). She had retained it ever since - cultivating it until it'd grown to a fairly substantial string.

She also held slight ones for her troopers, which Hux figured nicely showed her capability as a leader. It was one of the reasons why he kept her close.)

Alas. There was nothing Hux could do now but accept defeat.

Hux glanced at the strings, and was irritated to find _concern_ still glaringly evident. What was she so concerned over? That he couldn't handle Ren? Because he could, and quite well. He was coping with his new ‘relationship’ in an admirable fashion, _thank you very much_.

“Captain, if there's nothing constructive for you to say, you may as well see yourself out,” Hux stated coolly, daring her to continue. She wouldn't dare -

“So the rumors are true, then, General?”

“Good- _bye_ , Captain Phasma,” Hux grit out, motioning to the door with a great deal of conviction.

She actually _laughed_ at that - he realized that he'd never heard her laugh before then; actually, he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed - and said simply, “I'm your only friend, Hux.”

And, having said her bit, she departed the room with smug victory in her step.

Which left Hux a) mildly disturbed and b) insulted, because surely she didn't have any ‘friends’ either.

 

* * *

 

“What did Phasma want?” Ren asked. Hux offered him a drink, which he turned down with a disgusted wave of his hand, claiming, “Inebriation is something I'll gladly avoid.”

“You won't get drunk off a single drink,” Hux informed Ren dryly as he poured himself a drink instead. He set the bottle back on the table with a thud. “To my good health,” Hux toasted mockingly to the ceiling before swallowing back the bitter liquid.

“Phasma,” Ren insisted, turning back to the original topic. “Why was she here?”

The two of them were in Hux's spacious office. Hux was fond of it because of how quiet it typically was; it served as a welcome deviation from the constant chaos that running the _Finalizer_ entailed. Sparse with furniture and decoration, Hux preferred its simple calm over any personalization.

“Hm...yes, Phasma,” Hux said vaguely, waving his glass around a bit. “She knows, you know.”

“Knows what?” Ren demanded immediately, staring Hux down wildly with his frenetic eyes. He stopped moving entirely, it seemed - his body went rigid as everything about him focused on whatever information Hux had to give.

“Phasma knows about us. Which is actually quite good - that shows her skill and focus. She's a very good trooper leader, you know,” Hux added with another small sip of his drink.

“Stop saying ‘you know’.” Kylo Ren’s brow furrowed, and Hux couldn't help but feel secretly pleased that he'd confused the other man. “And how are you taking this so well?” Ren asked harshly. “I thought you'd be more worried about your _reputation_ than this.”

“Oh, I'm worried about my reputation,” Hux replied calmly, playing with his empty glass absentmindedly, “just not from Captain Phasma. She's…a friend.”

Ren actually snorted at that. “We don't have friends, Hux,” he scoffed, turning away from Hux to face the ceiling-to-floor window overlooking the galaxy.

“You're probably right,” Hux conceded.

They were quiet for a moment. Then Ren, still facing away from Hux, asked, “What strings do you share? You and Phasma?” Ren had reverted to his coldly even tone. That meant he was hiding something, Hux decided. _Peculiar_.

“Deep orange and indigo, primarily,” Hux informed him. “Though there's a smudge of forest-green.”

“Meaning?” Ren prompted.

“ _Respect_ , _concern_ , _trust_ ,” Hux told him, somewhat reluctantly. He considered the bottle for a moment before taking it and pouring himself another drink.

Ren’s back was to Hux, but the general could tell that he had tensed. Something was bothering him.

“You may as well come out with it,” Hux said, “we don’t have all the time in the galaxy.”

“The Force could provide that,” Ren replied tonelessly.

“We’re disregarding that for now,” Hux told him. He leaned back in his chair. “Well? What is it?”

Ren turned around, his unpleasant frown on full display across his face. “You don’t need to concern yourself with this.”

“Yes, I do, in fact. We’re in a _relationship_ ,” Hux reminded him, wrinkling his nose at the offending word, “as we’ve mutually decided to not see others. You may as well trust me with items that bother you.”

“Fine. Just don’t say that word again.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

“I merely…” Ren trailed off, suddenly seeming vulnerable and uncertain. (Hux would say _shy_ , but that was preposterous.) “I was wondering what the connections looked like.”

Hux dropped the glass he was holding.

Re stared at the shattered glass now scattered across the dark tile. “You took that very nicely,” he commented, smirking faintly as he looked back up to Hux's ashen face.

He really was shocked, to say the least.

“Why would you be curious about that?” Hux asked, his traitorous voice at an undignifying whisper.

The other man gave a slight shrug. ( _Yes_ , Hux thought in a deep, far section of his mind, _definitely uncertain_.) “I’m curious. I don't see them, after all.”

“Haven't you poked about in my brain?” Hux accused harshly, almost harshly enough to regret the allegation. “Surely you've seen something.”

Ren glanced back down at the broken glass. “I never prodded that deeply. I didn’t _actually_ want to hurt you, you know.”

“Then why ask me now? If you don't want to hurt me?” Hux felt the shock begin to wear off, slowly being replaced with dumbfounded confusion and frustration.

“I never asked to enter your mind,” Ren reminded him impatiently. “I asked you to describe -”

“What if you did?”

Ren considered that, and Hux swore he could see thoughts flashing across his dark eyes. “It's like a needle, mind penetration. If you relax, it's discomforting but tolerable. If you're fighting, it burns. Well,” he amended after a pause, “I've heard it does more than burn.”

Hux considered that.

“I’ll try it.”

“What?”

“Your sorcery. Try it on me. I want to know if you could see them.”

“You trust me?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that a yes?”

Hux sighed. “Ren. I clearly gave you your answer.”

Ren flashed him a look of amusement.

 

* * *

 

It was a lot less messy than Hux had thought it would be.

(Messy as in painful and humiliating.)

He sat cross-legged across from Ren, about a two-foot’s difference between them. Ren had taken off his awful shawl (“It's too distracting to meditate in,” he complained when Hux raised an eyebrow) and looked peculiarly small without the extra mass.

“Just breathe. You'll feel something of a tingle at the back of your mind, but don't fight it. You can't. When you accept that, and it'll go far more smoothly.”

“If I don't?” Hux couldn't resist asking the question.

“It'll hurt. A lot. Probably.”

Hux nodded. “And will you be just...ruffling through my memories?”

“If anything gets too _personal_ ,” Ren stressed the last word, (and rather unnecessarily, really), “let me know immediately. I don't want to know.”

Hux wasn't entirely sure what Ren was referring to, but he nodded again, anyway. “Shall we begin?”

“Close your eyes.”

 

* * *

 

It was much easier once he let go.

It was difficult, but he'd expected that. Hux was always in control; he'd gotten far too used to it. Letting go felt at once like taking a breath of fresh air and like losing a limb, but Hux decided that the first outweighed the last.

Hux felt a warm tingle reverberate through his conscious in response.

 _Ren_.

 

* * *

 

Flashes of memories passed before his thoughts.

The lilac sky, the small girl with the strange threads, his father frowning at the fire, Phasma smiling, the Academy’s dull halls, the orphan waif, a bottle shattering -

 _Where are the threads?_ a voice whispered. It was not like the deep, dark, cruel voice of his nightmare; this voice was calm and smooth and trustworthy. This voice was familiar.

He recalled the handshake and the officer with the forest-green _trust_ thread. He remembered the orange wave that attacked him from the fresh stormtroopers, and from those before that time, as well. He thought back to the little girl who adored her distant mother too much -

 _What do you have on_ him _?_

He dug around his memory before extracting the event. Relaxed and at peace, he realized that that one was one of his favorite memories. He recalled it in a great amount of detail; he could see the exact strings and their exact widths. Nothing was missing. It was all there.

The day he'd first seen the face of Kylo Ren - it was one of his fondest memories. _Who would have known?_

The presence in his mind hummed in response to that.

 

* * *

 

“Hux.”

Pause.

“Hux, you need to wake up now.”

Short pause.

“Hm? Oh. Oh, I'm here.”

Ren appraised him for a moment. “You look tired. Do you feel alright?”

“I’m fine.” Hux tried to stand, but he found his legs did not want to cooperate. He ended up awkwardly swaying before Ren caught him and laid him, sprawled in a heap on the ground.

“You're not fine,” Ren told him, standing over him with a tight-lipped frown.

“I’m fine,” Hux insisted. “Are you fine?”

Ren gave him a withering look. “Of course I'm fine.”

Hux leaned back on his elbows and craned his neck up to the tall man. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Ren blinked. “Yes.”

“Was it...nice?” Hux asked, tilting his head slightly. He still wasn't sure why Ren would want to see them. They were spoiling things.

“You don't look at our strings a lot.”

“Your strings,” Hux corrected. “I can't see mine.”

Ren waved his hand vaguely in annoyance. “Why is that?”

“You don't search my head very often; why should I see a part of yours?”

“You're fine with everyone else. Even Phasma, your _friend_.”

Hux shrugged. “It's different.”

“You could, if you wanted,” Ren offered. “Right now. Look down. What do you see?”

Hux lowered his gaze, going along with Ren's little game. He felt as uncomfortable as he always did when he saw Ren’s - like he was looking at a personal diary by the man. “Respect is still there,” he reported, “envy has grown a bit -” ( _was he envious of the strings?_ ) “- lust and… _fondness_ are…present…and…” He trailed off.

There was a new one.

“And?” Ren prompted.

“Trust.”

Silence.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Hm?”

“That's why I had to know.”

“Hm.”

“Thank you for this.”

“You're quite welcome.”

Pause.

“My legs still won't work.”

“I'll carry you to your quarters.”

"That's scandalous, Ren.”

“I don't care.”

He smiled, albeit tiredly. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> gorgeous related artwork by [detnickvalentine, or GetTheFreakingSalt](http://detnickvalentine.tumblr.com/post/138310219783/colored-connections-by-metropolitanlights-ao3) :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Coward](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036418) by [TaMeaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaMeaut/pseuds/TaMeaut)
  * [Super Human](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7054402) by [TaMeaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaMeaut/pseuds/TaMeaut)




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